


Remember When...

by susies_fandom_wonders



Series: Requested Fics [36]
Category: Layton Kyouju Series | Professor Layton Series
Genre: Blood, Child Death, F/M, reminiscing about old memories, targent is mean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-01
Updated: 2018-03-01
Packaged: 2019-03-25 18:58:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13840977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/susies_fandom_wonders/pseuds/susies_fandom_wonders
Summary: Desmond holds his wife close as she struggles to hang on to life, and they talk about the times they had together.





	Remember When...

“Desmond, honey….” A bloody hand reaches up to his face, cups his cheek. “Don’t cry.”

Their daughter laid a few feet away; she had already passed, her body mangled. A long silence passed. Olivia breathed in deeply, her breath rattling, before she spoke again.

“Do you… remember when we first met?” Desmond nodded. “When you seemed so small, dear? Do you remember when… I asked to draw you?”

Desmond nodded again. “I called Raymond. You thought it was a significant other.” His voice was thick with sorrow. Tears streamed down his face. “We met up again that night.”

“...Yes. We did. At the… park. We talked for a while….”

“About our interests.” Desmond remembered. He remembered how he couldn’t think about anything else but her, how he had stared at the same paragraph in one of Rutledge’s articles about the Azran civilization for much longer than he would have normally. He remembered walking back to that park where they parted earlier that day, how she was still there, pale hair glowing in the streetlamps. How she explained that sitting in the park at night was great for inspiration.

It was in that moment that Desmond knew he liked her. He sat on the bench next to her, and they talked. How Desmond expanded on what he mentioned eariler about his interest in archaeology, warily at first, but the longer Olivia listened, the more he spoke about it. Olivia talked about art, writing. She wanted to publish children’s books.  
A few unfinished drafts lay in their room, scattered and smudged from when Targent came. Careful graphite drawings were ruined. Whole pages were crumpled or ripped.

Olivia used a thumb to wipe away the tears on Des’s face. “Do you remember our first date?”

“I do.”

“You tried… so hard to make it perfect.” Olivia couldn’t help but smile, teeth red. Desmond still thought she was beautiful. She would always be beautiful.

“It all fell apart.”

“I still loved it. You were so afraid I’d leave you. Our first kiss… our first kiss was then.”

He remembered the softness of her lips, the soft curl of her hair when he laced his fingers through it.

He remembered how Olivia would fall asleep on one of her drawings, flecks of dark graphite stuck to her face when he moved her to bed. He remembered when Olivia had first told him that she was pregnant. How she laughed when he had started worrying too much about her health, saying she’d be fine. How calm she’d been when she went into labor. How panicked he’d been.

“It’s going to be alright, dear.” Olivia stroked his cheek with a thumb, blood trickling from her mouth when she coughed.

He remembered when he saw Violet for the first time. How nothing else mattered but her and Olivia. He remembered his panic when she’d start crying. He remembered her laughter, her smile, her drawings meant only for him, her papa. How she’d drag him to her room, to have tea parties and play make-believe. She’d been so full of life, so excited, so curious, about the world around her.

She was now silent, in a broken, bloody heap behind him.

“I don’t blame you, dear.” Olivia’s voice grew weak. “I would never blame you. I still love you. I don’t hate you for what your father did. Who he is… does not… define… you….” Her breathing grew labored; she smiled still. “I know I won’t make it, dear. You must be strong for me, alright? You must be strong for me… and Violet.” Olivia wrapped the arm she’d raised to Des’s face around his neck, brought him down and placed a gentle, soft kiss on his lips. She pulled away, her arm dropping to the bloodied floor beside her. Her eyes grew half-lidded. Des scooped up her hand, laced his fingers between hers.

“I…. Love you, Desmond.” Olivia’s voice was a whisper. Desmond tightened his grip on her hand.

“I love you, Olivia.” Her smile grew sad, then.

“I… wanted to….” A single tear slipped down her cheek. “...I wanted to see Violet grow up. I wanted to grow old with you.” A shaky, shallow breath. Olivia’s skin grew pale, her eyes unfocused. “I….”

“Shh. It’s okay, Olivia. I know.” He wanted to scream, to curse the gods who had decided to make his existence a joke. They didn’t deserve to die.

When she finally went limp in his arms, he finally found it in him to scream.


End file.
